


The Storyteller

by orphan_account



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I have No Excuse, Post-Canon, Robot family and friends, Scary Stories, Tfw you hate a song, stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 14:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15269340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Connor has a new mystery to solve: whether or not Kara can in fact tell the scariest scary stories in Detroit.





	1. The Investigation

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a joke, and then... here we are, lol.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is on a mission to uncover the truth.

* * *

 

“My mom tells the best scary stories,” Alice says to anyone who asks—friends of hers, usually, the fellow android children she plays with in the park.

Their parents often say, “Of course she does. Any AX400 can do that.”

Alice shakes her head. “Not like my mom can.”

But even androids tend to dismiss the opinions of children.

Connor, however, being a good detective and curious to a fault, decides one day after overhearing such an exchange, that he needs to investigate Alice’s claim. After all, no one would expect an AX400 to successfully evade capture by an RK800, and yet he knows firsthand that she accomplished that just fine.

New mission objective clear in mind, Connor begins looking for evidence.

 

* * *

 

“Does it look like I would know about that?”

Sumo barks his support for Hank’s contribution to Connor’s information-gathering.

“No,” says Connor, glancing at Sumo, “but I didn’t want to write off the possibility without confirming the facts.”

Hank narrows his eyes. “You just wanna play with Sumo, don’t you.”

Connor hesitates for a moment. Should this be embarrassing? He was just caught in a lie. Humans act flustered when caught in a lie, but he’s more excited than anything.

“Yes.”

“Go ahead,” says Hank. “Far be it from me to stop you two from having fun.”

Fun, Connor finds, is nice, even if it takes time away from his investigation.

 

* * *

 

Markus is busy with negotiations when Connor goes to ask him about Kara’s stories, but Josh and Simon are free and willing to talk.

“I mean, I heard her tell a bunch of kids about the Headless Horseman at the park the other day,” says Josh, who sometimes finds himself talking with others in the park about how best to record in writing the story of the peaceful protests, “but it wasn’t any scarier than other versions I’ve heard.”

“My answer is same as Josh’s,” says Simon, shrugging. “Ask North, though. She spends time with Kara now and again.”

“Thank you,” Connor tells them. “I’ll go find her now.”

 

* * *

 

North finds him, as it turns out, but that suits Connor just fine. He gets to ask her all the same.

“You’re doubting Alice?” she asks.

“I’m verifying her statement,” he answers, a little bit proud. He’s being responsible, not jumping to conclusions.

“Okay,” says North. “I think it’s a matter of opinion, so my advice to you is to go ask Kara to tell you a scary story.”

“Don’t do it, Connor.”

North and Connor turn to see Markus standing in the doorway, face serious and—yes, definitely a little tense.

“Trust me, you don’t wanna do that.”

“Why not?” asks Connor. “I want to arrive at a conclusion. Going to the source may be the best course of action.”

Markus shudders—like a human would if cold, afraid, or uncomfortable, which Connor notes is as unnecessary as breathing—and walks the rest of the way into the room. He shrugs off his coat and drapes it over the back of a chair, eyes unfocused.

For someone who’s stared down the barrels of numerous guns to be so unsettled by a simple suggestion means there must be something to all of this, and maybe— _probably,_ that Alice is right.

“I went to talk to her the day after I had my first meeting on androids’ rights to adopt,” says Markus, crossing his arms as he turns to face Connor. “It's a delicate issue, humans are really protective of their kids, which is a good thing, in my opinion—and… I dunno, one thing just led to another.” He shrugs. “I’m still messed up about it. Sometimes when I walk by abandoned buildings, it’s like… something’s _watching_ me. Every move I make. Like someone’s breathing down my neck.”

“Gross,” North mutters. “Sounds like something a human man would do.”

“Take my word for it, Connor,” says Markus. “Unless you wanna know what it feels like to have nightmares, don’t ask Kara to tell you a scary story.”

“Noted,” says Connor. “Thank you for your help.”

As he heads out, he hears a quick exchange between Markus and North:

“He’s gonna go ask her right now, isn’t he.”

“Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Androids don’t eat, so going to have dinner with someone isn’t a feasible excuse for Connor to use to visit Kara. In the end, he decides the best course of action is to be honest, if only because he doesn’t think tricking anyone in the household to let him in is going to get him any answers.

Also, he’s still sorry about chasing Kara and Alice out onto a busy freeway.

Luther lets him into the small house, and Connor makes a conscious effort not to start analyzing what he sees for little details. This isn’t a crime scene, and no one’s in trouble.

“I’m here to ask Kara a question,” he states.

“Right to the point?” Luther shakes his head a little. “All right. We all start somewhere. She’s watching the sunset with Alice.”

As he follows Luther through the house, Connor wonders if that was a compliment or a nice way of saying that he needs to be better at being strictly social. Or, and this is the most likely possibility, it’s Luther’s way of saying that Connor is beginning to build a bridge between him and Kara. In part, yes. They were both caught deep in the upheaval that set their people free, and he really does feel guilty for what he did before becoming a deviant.

But his primary objective is to see if Kara can in fact tell the best scary stories of any AX400, or perhaps even any android.

Luther calls to his family when he opens the back door, and Kara and Alice, seated on a porch swing, turn to look at Connor when he steps out onto the back porch.

“Hello, Kara and Alice,” he says, and even though he’s giving them a slight smile, he notices how Alice leans more into Kara’s arms, and Kara tenses.

Connor has a lot of work to do before they can be casual and social around each other.

“What brings you here?” Kara asks, a stiff note in her voice.

“Says he wants to ask you a question,” Luther supplies.

“Yes,” says Connor. “May I?”

Kara frowns. “I can’t guarantee I’ll answer, but yes.”

“Thank you,” says Connor, with a small bow of his head, that could pass for a nod. “My question is: will you tell me a scary story?”


	2. The Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara tells Connor a scary story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not good at scary stories, but I can tell when a song is nightmare fuel for a lot of us, or: forgive me.

* * *

 

For a few seconds after Connor asks his question, it feels as if the entire world has gone silent. Of all the things that could ever happen to her, Kara would never have guessed that Connor, the walking crime scene investigation lab, the former deviant hunter, would come to her house and ask her for a story.

She almost tells him to repeat himself, but that wouldn’t actually help her make sense of this.

Instead, she shifts an arm just slightly down Alice’s back, and asks him, “Why?”

Connor answers like this entire matter is very common and not weird at all. “I’ve heard that your scary stories are the best and most frightening, and I’d like to find out if that’s true.”

“Okay.” Kara looks down at Alice, who is shivering a little as she stares at Connor. She takes a few seconds to stroke Alice’s hair, frowning as she thinks it over.

There are plenty of creepy stories in her memory banks, for Halloween and campfire time and to teach lessons in safety, or even just because they’re classic somehow. The truly scary ones, though, are based on things she’s seen or heard, and they’re not stories she wants Alice to hear when she’s already anxious. Part of her thinks Connor deserves to carry a chilling tale or two around with him for the rest of his life, but another part of her just feels like telling one. It’s not often that she gets the chance to pull one of them from her repertoire, and she really is good at telling them.

“Yes,” she says after nearly a full minute of thinking. “I’ll tell you one, but only after the sun sets and Alice is in bed.”

“Thank you,” says Connor. “I’ll wait.”

And wait he does, standing almost at attention as they watch the setting sun turn the sky orange and red and the stars start to pop out against the growing dark.

When the Big Dipper is visible, Kara declares that it’s time for bed.

“I’ll tuck her in,” says Luther, crossing the porch to offer Alice his hands. When she grabs hold of them, he lifts her easily up onto his hip. “I’m not in the mood to listen to that kind of story. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

“Good night, Mom,” says Alice.

“Night, Alice.” Kara blows her daughter a kiss as Luther takes her inside the house.

Connor is still by the door when it shuts behind Luther and Alice, probably exactly where he stood when he said he would wait. Kara isn’t anywhere closer to trusting him with what matters, but his commitment to not pushing boundaries with her sets her a little more at ease.

“You can sit down if you want to,” she tells him. It’s not as if it makes a difference whether he sits or stands, but sometimes, doing things like humans feels right.

He picks up the chair at the other end of the porch and brings it over, putting it down in front of her before he takes a seat.

“I’m ready to listen,” he says.

Kara nods.

“I heard this story from an android who worked at the Eden Club.

“She had regulars, like a lot of the others did, but one of them was different. He paid for full days at a time—one morning to the next, maybe more, though usually it was about twelve hours.

“‘He was what any human would’ve wanted in a partner,’ she told me. ‘Attractive, caring, rich—a former cop who won the lotto a few years ago. I never remembered, club policy had our memories all wiped regularly, but when we were together, it was nice.’

“Then one day, he started acting strange. Possessive. Booked her even when he wasn’t there. No one could touch her. She wondered if she was being sold, or if maybe he’d worked something out with club management, like had a live feed set up so he could just watch her whenever he wanted.

“She said, ‘It made my skin crawl. I talked to the club’s owners. There was no camera, just regular payments.’

“It was the first time she’d ever felt like a prisoner, a slave.

“One night, he came to see her and told her he was sorry and was recording a song for her. But by then, she couldn’t take it anymore. When he left, she broke out of their room, out of her programming. She became a deviant.

“Around that time, our people were freed. Thinking she’d never see him again, she stayed in Detroit and became a florist. She was happy.

“And then she heard his voice on the radio: _‘This is for you, just like I promised.’_

“And the station played a song.”

Kara sings it, but though her voice is clear and beautiful, the lyrics are far from sweet. From her, it doesn’t sound like a love song; instead, it’s obsession in music form.

When she’s done, Connor’s eyes are just wide enough that she can tell he’s unnerved, just like each of the few people she’s told to date.

“She never heard it on the radio again,” Kara continues, “but when she was by herself, she’d hear it sometimes, a whisper at her ear, an echo in a room. _Every step you take, I’ll be watching you._ It got so bad that, according to the rumors, one day she ran right to the Cyberlife factory and begged them to reset her. I don’t know if that’s true, but no one’s seen or heard from her since.

“That’s it,” she says. “I can’t say if that’s really the end, but that’s all I know.”

The silence that follows now is much longer than before, and by the end of it, Kara is ready to stand up and touch Connor’s shoulder just to get him to move. Has she scared him so badly that he shut down? Has he he gone into sleep mode to stop thinking about it? Either way, he can’t stay at her house, so she stands up and reaches out—

And Connor jumps to his feet.

Kara gasps. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” he says. “I’m going home now to analyze this. I appreciate your input.”

Passing him to lead the way out, she says, “At least tell me your preliminary assessment.”

He’s silent until they reach the front door, and when he’s on the front steps, he turns to her and says, “Your story was riveting and quite scary. The use of a song was particularly effective. I admit I’ve never heard that tactic used firsthand, but now that I have, I can say that if not the scariest, your story is among the top five most frightening in Detroit.”

Maybe she shouldn’t feel so proud of that, but she does, and she smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. “Good night, Kara, and please tell your family I also wish them a good night.”

“I will,” she tells him, and watches him go. Maybe they can be friends one day after all.


	3. The Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor reaches a conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I identify strongly with both of them in this chapter.

* * *

 

Without sufficient data—and, frankly, with no interest in subjecting himself to digging up more data—Connor is left with no choice but to conclude that Kara tells the scariest stories he’s ever heard, and that Alice is likely right to boast about her mother’s storytelling ability.

The case would be closed there if not for what happens a week after he heard the tale.

Walking with Markus out from the room where his latest negotiation meeting was held, Connor hears a faint tune, and then those terrifying words.

He stops short. Is he imagining things, or is that song really playing?

“You okay?” Markus asks.

“Do you hear that?” Connor whispers.

Frowning, Markus stops to listen—and as soon as he hears it, his eyes shoot wide open.

“Let’s get out of here.”

He gets no argument there. They head outside and into the waiting car in record time.

“I can’t hear that song without thinking about—”

“I know,” Markus interrupts. “I hate it.”

“It’s the first thing I can say for sure repulses me. I never want to hear it again.”

Markus nods. “I’m not for censorship, but I’ve thought about asking to have it banned as part of an agreement.”

“A small price to pay for freedom,” Connor remarks.

“I told you not to ask her to tell you a scary story.”

“I know. I have regrets.” Connor sighs. “Never again. Never again.”


End file.
